


A Gift That Keeps On Giving

by handholdinglion



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Sugar Daddy Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 08:22:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28468218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handholdinglion/pseuds/handholdinglion
Summary: 'As Geralt knelt at Lord Godwin’s feet, planning his escape to the sound of various lords and ladies deciding how he should die, a lavish carriage pulled up to the front of the large Manor house carrying a rather unexpected guest.'Geralt finds himself entangled in some court's bullshit until Destiny gifts him a way out. A gift that keeps on giving... him gifts?orJaskier just wants to make his Witcher feel good but feelings keep getting in the way.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 22
Kudos: 148
Collections: Geraskier Holiday Exchange 2020





	A Gift That Keeps On Giving

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redlightofdawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redlightofdawn/gifts).



> A very Happy Holidays to the wonderful redlightofdawn! Here is your Secret Santa gift for the prompt 'post mountain breakup sugardandy!Jaskier'  
> Apologies for the slight delay and any formatting issues that may follow, this is the longest thing I have ever written and I am still mildly overwhelmed by how to actually post things to this site!
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

In the privacy of his own mind, Geralt could admit that this was not going well.

Fuck, this whole thing had been a mess from the start. Contracts from any member of nobility, no matter how minor, usually ended up fucking him over somehow, but this one had definitely been the worst for a while. Though, for once, the target hadn’t doubted the Witcher’s intention to kill him, hadn’t tried to bribe or warn him off, the vampire, known by most as  _ Sir Fabian _ , had just smirked when Geralt had followed him on his nightly walk through the manors gardens, silver sword drawn and glinting in the moonlight.

Thankfully, Geralt had thought ahead and drank the first dose of potions before following his target out into the night, where the bastard put up one hell of a fight. Sir  Fabian had clearly planned for such an attack and led the Witcher  to a collection of water fountains at the centre of the gardens before darting away and circling back to attack him from a different direction. A rather cunning and ingenious plan, though Geralt was loathe to admit it, as the overlapping sounds of so much cascading water had confused his senses and allowed the vampire to take a quick swipe before Geralt had activated his Quen shield. 

After a relatively long battle, in which his opponent was clearly aiming to outmatch Geralt’s stamina by staying just out of range unless making his own striking attacks, the Witcher was finally able to take down the Katakan. Which, for some odd reason, morphed back into the more recognisable,  _ human form  _ of Sir Fabian once dead.

Thinking back, that should have been the sign Geralt needed to figure out something wasn’t quite right. But he’d been tired after the fight, and hadn’t paid much attention to the sound of footsteps running away from him as he started to remove the head from the monster's body. That was until said footsteps returned with a great deal more and Geralt of Rivia was arrested next to a  _ beloved _ court member’s decapitated corpse. 

The rest of the court had apparently been awoken at sunrise, because who would want to light candles to sentence a man to death?  _ He had no doubt that was where this whole mess was heading _ . And after coming to gasp at the bound Witcher being held in his dungeon, and  _ undoubtedly _ the headless body of his friend, the owner of the Manor, Lord Godwin, had ordered Geralt be brought to the main hall and made to kneel at his feet.

The over-exuberant hall had already contained a few lower lords and ladies of the surrounding areas when he’d been led through the large, main doors. Geralt recognised them from the party Lord Godwin had thrown three nights prior, a party which he had unfortunately also attended. He’d been invited with the hope it would help the Witcher find who had been brutally murdering various members of the local community, mainly members of household staff but the most recent had been both a young Lady and her maid, whose bodies had unfortunately been found by the young Lady’s father. 

Geralt could only assume that the killings had been motivated by the vampire’s thirst rather than any political dispute as the only way in which the bodies had been connected was the fact they’d all been killed by a Katakan. To Geralt, such small and specific feeding grounds indicated that that killer must have been residing in or nearby the manor, and though it wasn’t common for Katakans to allow themselves to be trapped in such small and limiting social spaces, it seemed to be becoming a growing trend among their species. 

The Witcher had reported his suspicions to Lord Godwin, his contractor-turned-captor, two days ago, but the man hadn’t accepted Geralt’s conclusion that one of his  _ friends _ or members of household staff could be responsible for the killings. The Lord had even gone so far as to accuse the Witcher of  _ stirring the political pot _ , suggesting he was working for outside sources to destabilise his  _ court _ . Though, if this mess proves anything it's that the good Lord’s court is already  _ plenty _ unstable on its own, especially if a vampire can lie themselves into a trusted position. 

Geralt’s theory had been proven correct later on that same day when a mature serving woman had confessed to the Witcher in confidence that she’d seen one of the Lord's friends, Sir Fabian, with a large number of the victims shortly before they had been found deceased. 

Again, looking back, Geralt should probably have pushed harder for a meeting with the Lord of the house to update him on the investigation and present his new findings, before trying to kill what turned out to be a friend of his, rather brutally. But the lady who’d offered him the evidence hadn’t wanted to be named and without her testimony it was unlikely Lord Godwin would believe him, and the Witcher probably would have ended up in this position a day earlier but with the vicious Katakan still roaming free. 

A harsh knock to his shoulder brings Geralt back to the present, tuning back into the various gasps and usual court bollocks going on around him. It would be much simpler for them to have just listed his apparent crimes and assigned him a punishment as soon as he was brought in. But instead it seems Lord Godwin wants to add as much _ unnecessary _ drama as he can to these proceedings so that his friend gets the reaction he deserves for such an  _ unexpected _ and  _ untimely _ demise. 

If Geralt had been even a little bit more in control of his limbs when they’d marched him in, he wouldn’t have allowed himself to be knelt at this fucking mans feet. But he was tired, the guards hadn't let him settle into a meditation since they’d caught him, poking and prodding at the Witcher’s pallid skin every time his breathing had evened out. They also hadn’t provided him with any sustenance, not that he’d expected them to feed a  _ monster _ and a  _ murderer, _ so the potions left in his system after the fight had burnt through his energy reserves leaving him cold and shaking. It was nothing he couldn’t handle, just a mild discomfort that had given him something to focus on hiding as he waited for the Manor to wake.

There is some benefit from this otherwise subservient position however, as Geralt had slowly been able to drop his head down to face his knees, providing him some respite from having to mask his facial expressions. This left him able to continue hiding the shaking of his body and the discomfort of being forced in one position for so long, as well as returning to tune out the various proceedings going on around him. 

It sounds as though more people have entered the hall since he was brought in and although he had initially been given time to explain his actions,  _ not that anyone had listened, _ Geralt doesn’t think he’ll get the chance to do so again nor will his defence be repeated for the benefit of these new arrivals.

Despite his old age and deep understanding that,  _ this is how the world works for people like him, _ a foolish, hopeful part of him  _ rages  _ in protest against how he is being treated. A part that sounds  _ stupidly _ like a certain bard that he’d cast away on a mountain top at least two summers ago. Ridiculously, that makes the soft voice harder to ignore, despite the fact he’d easily done as such to its owner during their,  _ fuck, _ many years travelling together. The bard would have certainly known the best way out of the mess or maybe, with the bard help, Geralt wouldn’t have even been in this mess in the first place. A  _ master wordsmith _ such as he would never have allowed Geralt to fuck up quite this much, maybe this would make an entertaining ballad for hi- the bard when these people spread the word that they’d executed the White Wolf.

The voice was definitely helping to paint his own thoughts in a more dramatic light, or maybe it was the strain from stilling his limbs that was making him mildly delirious. Either way Geralt wasn’t going to die here despite the current discussions around him discussing the most fitting way to execute the Witcher, he was  _ not _ going to allow himself to die here.

* * *

As Geralt knelt at Lord Godwin’s feet, planning his escape to the sound of various lords and ladies deciding how he should die, a lavish carriage pulled up to the front of the large Manor house carrying a rather unexpected guest. 

Though, for many, this unexpected guest was in fact not unexpected at all, he’d been invited to a party held at the manor three nights previous but had been waylaid chasing leads for his latest tale. The guest, a well dressed man, peers out at the Manor house, humming softly to himself before swiftly standing and exiting the carriage. 

Knee high, black boots clack against the stone paving as he turns to discuss his plans for this visit with the driver. Navy suede pants with pantaloon style thighs tuck neatly into his freshly polished boots and sit comfortably on his waist. A matching, fitted doublet covers the upper half of his body, perfectly tailored to hug every curve, and shape his strong thighs and defined arms into something more refined for courtly taste. Ruffles in the same navy fabric flared three-inches from each wrist, the outer edge embellished with gold, floral embroidery. Similar embellishments could be found around the bottom of the doublet with a smaller, more refined pattern, edging the line of navy, covered buttons down it’s front. 

A sharp cry followed by hurried footsteps cuts the young gentlemen's conversation off, and he turns to watch a mature member of household staff walk briskly in his direction. The mature lady, the very same member of staff mentioned previously in this tale, pauses for a moment to catch her breath before looking up at the tall gentlemen in front of her. 

“Forgive me kind Lord, am I mistaken or are you the same Lord that played at the Yule ball here not two years past?” She asks earnestly, while trying to hide the shaking of her hands by fisting them into her uniform.

“I am, yes.” The gentleman's honey, soft voice replies as he glances down to watch the nervous movement of her hands before returning his concerned gaze to her face. “What’s wrong, kind lady?” 

She hums, biting her lip before taking a quick step forward and glancing around them, checking for any eavesdroppers before finally saying her piece. 

“They’ve arrested the Witcher my Lord, and it’s all my fault!” The gentlemen's mouth opens as though to question her statement, but she quickly continues before he gets the chance. 

“Apparently they found him standing over the body of one of Lord Godwin’s friends, Sir Fabian, the man's head in his hands! That  _ monster _ had killed  _ seven  _ people! The Witcher called him some kind of vampire but no-one listened! And now Lord Godwin plans to have him  _ killed _ , as a  _ traitor!  _ And he-” 

“Hush now, breathe.” The gentleman softly but firmly spoke, cutting off the now frantic rambling of the older women in front of him. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, turning her softly before beginning to walk towards the Manors main entrance. 

“Lord Godwin has always had a flare for the dramatic, but this is going a step too far.” The gentleman tuts softly, shaking his head as they approach the large wooden doors. He keeps his hand on the woman's shoulder, whose breathing has greatly improved on the short walk to the entrance, in an effort to comfort her even as they are admitted access to the building.

He waves the footman at the door away before turning to the older lady once more, a kind smile forming on his lips. “Do you think you could lead the way, my Lady?” She chuckles and nods in agreement before guiding him towards the main hall.

“Well, it looks like it’s my turn to save the day.”

* * *

“I agree with Lady  Idonea, my Lord, the punishment must suit the crime!” Someone rasps from over Geralt’s right shoulder and though the Witcher is unable to see the man's face he can hear the smirk in his voice.

“ _ Thank _ you Sir Balcwin, this  _ monster _ must pay! Must feel the same  _ agony _ poor Fabian experienced in his final moments!” Lady Idonea replies and Geralt is once again thankful his face is obscured, meaning no one was able to see his eyes roll at the women's over-dramatic words. The Witcher would swear that if you listen closely enough you could hear the panes of glass in the windows shake as her shrill voice painfully bounces around the large room. 

Mildly distracted and overwhelmingly exhausted as the Witcher is, you could forgive him for missing the sound of the large doors at the far end of the room opening and closing once more behind a well dressed gentlemen, who begins to make his way through the now sizable gathering. 

Geralt tilts his head towards the sound of crisp, sure footsteps as they make their way towards him, gradually drowning out the sound of Lady Idonea’s incessant warbling. The new addition to the gathering had yet to speak but that was clearly their intention as they continued to make their way towards the steps of raised dais on which he was still knelt at Lord Godwin’s feet.

Geralt curses his inability to turn and look at the source of the footsteps, as his mind finally recognises the achingly familiar sound of Jaskier’s heartbeat, hands clenching in his lap to restrict his physical reaction while his own heart jumps inside his chest.

Desperately, the Witcher clamps down on the swell of hope building inside of him, as he tries to rationalise the bard's sudden appearance.

Though the man’s timing is remarkable, it's possible that Jaskier’s attendance is merely a coincidence and that he is simply trying to get closer for a chance to see Geralt on his knees before joining with the Lords and Ladies around him to decide his fate. It would be nothing more than what the Witcher deserves after how he had treated Jaskier last time they spoke. In fact, Geralt would even go as far to beg Jaskier too-

“Now, now Lady Idonea. All this talk of beheadings could turn one's stomach.”  _ fuck, Jaskier... _

The bard's voice sounds deeper than he remembered it, but Geralt could still recognise the haughty tone Jaskier had twisted into his words and couldn’t help the soft smile that tugged against his lips.

“Ah, Julian, so wonderful of you to join us! Only three days late this time?” The raspy voice of Sir Balcwin replies, quickly wiping the smile from Geralt’s face.  _ Julian? _ His tired mind vaguely recognises the bard mentioning this name during their travels, maybe he’d gone back to using it once they’d parted ways. 

“Oh, thank you for reminding me, Sir Balcwin.” Jaski- Julian replies in an overly cheery tone, flashing the scowling, older man a dazzling smile before turning to face the now standing Lord Godwin.

“My sincerest apologies dear Lord Godwin, for missing your fine ball! I was waylaid chasing leads for my latest novel, which unfortunately were rather time sensitive.” Julian tilts his head, eyes pointedly looking at the dishevelled Witcher at the Lord Godwins feet, before meeting said Lord’s gaze once more. “Though it seems I’ve missed  _ quite _ the tale here?” 

The question hangs heavily in the air for a moment as those gathered in the hall wait for the person to which the question was intended, Lord Godwin, to answer. Geralt shifts his attention to said man, brows bunching in confusion as he listens to the Lord’s racing heart, an acute smell of fear beginning to rise from him.  _ Interesting. _

“This monster, who was so  _ kindly _ invited in by Lord Godwin, has  _ murdered _ and  _ beheaded _ a member of this very court! Clearly an act to destabilise us, make us seem  _ weak _ .” Lady Idonea replies, clearly the young woman couldn’t cope with the oppressive silence that had taken hold of the hall. “So Lord Godwin, had asked our advice on how to deal with  _ it. _ ” 

“Oh, how  _ interesting _ .” Julian exclaimed, voice void of any honest interest, instead it seemed to crawl with something malicious and cold. “Is that true  _ Lord _ Godwin?” 

“Yes, Lord Pancratz. I mean, yes- The Witcher, he killed Sir Fabian. A member of his staff alerted the guards, saw it happen.” The Lord replies, hands pulling at the front of his creased doublet in an attempt to straighten the garment as he spoke.

“I see. And why do  _ you  _ think the Witcher killed and removed the head from this, Sir Fabian?” Julian asked, his calm voice a direct contract to that of apparently fearful Lord Godwin. 

The Lord paused, swallowing thickly as carefully took a step around Geralt, where he  _ still knelt  _ waiting for this verbal game’s eventual outcome. “Would you mind, Lord Pancratz, if we continued this conversation in my office? The things we are about to discuss are rather  _ delicate. _ ”

Julian hums once in consideration before finally stepping closer to Geralt and gently placing a hand on his shoulder. He bends carefully, still keeping behind the Witcher as he asks, loud enough for those around to hear but not too loud as to hurt his ears. “Are you okay?”

The Witcher smiles softly, though it cannot be seen past the curtain of dirty hair that had fallen loose from it’s tie. Just this simple touch from the other man means more than he can say, the gentle heat from his hand causing the swell of hope to build in Geralt's chest once more. His mouth is too dry to try and verbally respond to his ba- Jaski- Julian's question, so instead Geralt slowly turns his wrists where they lay on his lap, resting his palms face up as he hums softly in agreement. Only Jas- Julian and maybe Lord Godwin would be able to see the minor tremors he allows his hands to show before he turns his wrists once more.

Unexpectedly, Geralt hears Julian grind his teeth together behind him, a sound that momentarily causes him to think he’d done the wrong thing before the hand on his shoulder squeezes it softly before pulling away. Though, despite the other man's careful retreat from his space, the warmth and hope he caused to bloom inside Geralt's body lingers long after the man agrees to accompany Lord Godwin into an adjoining room just to the side of the dais where Geralt stays, waiting for Julian’s return.

* * *

Geralt isn’t sure exactly how long he waits for the men to return from their private meeting, he remembers Jaskier’s warm hand pulling away from his shoulder and then it returning in an equally soft and gentle manner. Logically, he knows there was a time in between those two actions in which said hand was with its owner in a different room, discussing the Witcher’s actions over the past few days and his possible impending execution, but he doesn’t have any memory of it and he finds that doesn’t really bother him.

The hand on his shoulder moves and for a moment Geralt is worried it, and the bard, are leaving once more, but that fear is quickly muted as the comforting touch returns with Jaskier’s other hand to slowly help him stand. He is especially grateful for the extra help when his knees give way, as he tries to take a step forward. Thankfully, the bard had clearly managed to maintain some of the strength he’d gained while travelling with Geralt, as he easily tightens his grip on the Witcher and holds his weight until Geralt is able to wrestle his limbs back under control. 

The sound of Lord Godwin’s explanatory speech follows them out of the great hall and part way towards the exit before they fall into an awkward, clumsy silence. Though Geralt is now managing to walk mostly by himself, Jask- no, Julian, is still resting one of his hands at the centre of the Witcher’s back. Whether this is to guide or comfort him, Geralt is not sure but it is gratefully appreciated all the same. 

Geralt winces as they step out into the fresh air, even the dimmed light of the steadily approaching dusk is too much for his hypersensitive senses and he can’t help but hunch further over himself and closer to the other man.

Ja-Julian shushes him softly, making Geralt aware of the soft pained sound that was being pulled from his dry throat. “It’s okay, just a bit further.” Julian whispers, using the hand on Geralt’s back to guide him towards the ornate carriage that had just pulled up a short way in front of them. 

Despite his confusion as to why he’s being led towards a carriage that probably costs more than all the coin he’s ever made combined, he follows Jaskier lead and carefully climbs the small wooden steps before sitting down on one of the soft, plush benches. 

Before he has the chance to ask about the carriage’s owner, he turns his head and catches the sight of Julian turning away from him. In his panic the Witcher reaches out, blurred eyes squinting to make out the other man through the frame of the carriages door. “Wait,” he croaks out, hoping it was loud enough for the other to hear. “Where are you going?”

Julian tilts his head, frowning at the Witcher's odd behaviour, his eyes shining with worry momentarily before he blinks it away. “To get your things.” he replies, softly biting at his lower lip before continuing. “Rest. My driver will be watching out for anyone with ill intent. I’ll find all that I can before returning. You’ll be safe here.” 

The Witcher nods softly, letting his hand drop to rest on the velvet covered bench beside him and leaning back until he’s tucked into the corner of the dark carriage. “Thank you,” Geralt whispers as he allows his body to finally relax. 

Sadly, the Witcher's eyes close just as Jaskier allows a soft smile to form on his face, caused by both Geralt’s expression of gratitude and the sight of the Witcher relaxed inside his family’s fanciest carriage. 

After allowing himself a few moments to simply watch the other man, he schools his expression once more before turning and heading back inside Godwin’s Manor and Julian Alfred Pancratz won’t be returning until he’s collected all of his Witcher’s belongings, including his pay. 

* * *

Geralt wakes up briefly when Jas- Julian climbs back into the carriage, but a gentle touch to his knee and a soft shushing noise has him falling back to sleep, only waking once he feels someone softly shaking his shoulders a few hours later. 

“Come on Witcher, let’s get you in a proper bed.” Julian whispers fondly before turning and stepping gracefully out of the carriage.

Geralt hums softly, blearily blinking the sleep from his eyes as he turns to look out the window next to him. They must have been travelling for a few hours as the moon now sits high in the sky, casting the unfamiliar cobbled street in an ethereal glow. 

As he turns to ask the other for their location his eyes finally take note of his companion’s appearance. His gaze first catches on the gold embellishments, glinting in the moonlight as Julian rests against the outside of the carriage, matching with the collection of gold rings the man is currently twisting as he watches the goings on in the street around him. The next thing the Witcher notices is the way in which the extravagant outfit contours the other man’s body. It succeeds in accentuating his curves and smoothing out the sharp edges of Jaski- Julian's defined muscles.

While his eyes are still tracing the lines of Julian’s outfit, the man turns back to check if the Witcher has managed to fall back asleep, causing Geralt to quickly avert his eyes as he swallows thickly, shame burning in his chest. 

“Sorry. Coming.” The Witcher grates out, thankful that his throat is still dry so he had an excuse as to why his speech sounds so peculiar. 

Without any help, the Witcher manages to exit the carriage, taking one more look at it before turning and following Ja- Julian across the street. The other man leads them both into a high-end inn, nodding politely at the clerk on the door before heading towards the wide staircase at the side.

Geralt follows Julian up a second set of stairs and along a pristine and rug covered corridor before stopping and waiting for the other man to open the door. This place is certainly fancier than anywhere Geralt has stayed with the other before, outside of the occasional court appearance the bard made which required the Witcher’s attendance. He had to admit to feeling a little out of place here, especially with Ja- Julian stood next to him dressed like a member of minor nobility. This feeling only grew as Julian ushered him into their room before locking the door behind them. 

“I came in and made some arrangements while you were still sleeping.” The other man explains as he begins to flutter around the room. “If you want something hot l to eat I can go down and ask the clerk about having the kitchens prepare something, but if not please do pick at the spread on the table, I could hear your stomach rumbling even as you slept.”

“I-” Geralt clears his throat, walking quickly over to the table the other man indicated at, underneath the bay window, trying to ignore the  _ large _ spread of cold meats  _ and _ fruit as he pours a goblet,  _ a goblet _ , of water. The fresh, cool water feels like fucking honey as it slides down his parched throat and he quickly pours himself another portion, finishing that too before trying to speak once more.

“Julian, I can’t afford this.” he croaks, wincing at the sound of his own voice as his fingers tighten their grip on the water jug. 

“First of all,” the other man begins, slowly making his way towards Geralt. “Please don’t call me Julian, I  _ hate _ that name.” The Witcher feels himself release some tension he didn't even realise he was holding at that revelation. 

“Secondly,” Jaskier whispers, hands carefully removing the jug from Geralt’s tight grip. “You don’t have to. This is my room and you are my guest.”

“Why?” Geralt grunts, still refusing to meet the other man's eye as his heart beats faster in his chest.  _ He doesn’t deserve this. _

“Do you have a room?” Jaskier asks, slowly pouring Geralt another drink of water.

“No.” Geralt replies.

“Well then, where else would you stay?” He asks softly, carefully handing the Witcher his goblet.

“I don’t know. You don’t have to-” Jaskier cuts him off with a soft touch to his chin, tilting Geralt's head up to finally meet his gaze.

“No, you’re right. I don’t have to do anything. But you are my friend-- Ah! No wincing during my speech. You are my friend, and despite what happened on that mountain I still think of you as such. Does that mean I forgive you? Yes. Does that mean I don’t need an apology? No. I still want you to apologise- Ah, close that mouth! -at some point. But right now you are hurting so let me be your friend and take care of you okay?”

Geralt nods, ignoring the way his hands are now shaking for a different reason.  _ Fuck. _ He doesn't know what to say, doesn’t know how to react. He’s overwhelmed, he  _ doesn’t deserve this. _

The Witcher knows he is currently stood looking like a startled deer as he tries to process all this new information and all the emotions swirling through his head, but he knows that he is incredibly grateful that Jaskier, his _ friend _ , gives him a moment alone to allow him to do so.

* * *

As he pulls away from Geralt, giving the other man the space he needs to figure out how he is feeling, Jaskier decides his friend would definitely benefit more from a warm stew than the colder options he’d had brought up originally. 

He watches the Witcher for a moment more, intrigued to watch the other’s emotions flash across his face as he stares into the middle distance, before grabbing his key and quickly leaving the room. 

The water boy’s he passes on the stairs smile politely at him, letting him know that their room is next on the list once they’ve finished with the final room on this floor. Jaskier thanks them, placing a shiny crown in both of their hands and promises that they’ll be more where that came from if the boys could make sure the water is steaming hot as it is poured into the tub.

After passing the boys, Jaskier finds the clerk and inquires about the possibility of any fresh stew and a mug of ale being prepared, making sure to drop a few more coins to make up for the meal request at such a late hour. 

The man simply smiles brightly in return, assuring his customer that no ask is too great here and to let him know if there is anything else he can do before bustling off in the direction of the kitchen.

Upon his return, Jaskier finds the same boys from before handing Geralt buckets of water to pour into the large tub tucked into the corner of the room. He smiles, listening to the two boys ask a myriad of questions to the mucky Witcher and being extremely pleased with the short, though not unkind, answers they get in return.

His Witcher looks a lot calmer now, a soft warmth glowing from his summer coloured eyes, the type of glow he seems to only allow to show when he is settled and comfortable in his surroundings, though Jaskier isn’t sure if Geralt is even aware this outward display takes place. 

The bard hopes that his friends' stilted and careful movements are a symptom of his mistreatment at the hands of that backwards Lord rather than any lingering discontentment he holds against Jaskier himself. But, knowing Geralt, it is most probably a mix of the two, with a mountain sized dose of guilt thrown in, if you’ll pardon the pun. 

It’s not as though he doesn’t want the Witcher to feel guilty about how he treated Jaskier, he does. It’s just that Geralt has the tendency to take on  _ too much _ guilt and blame from  _ any  _ situation with a negative outcome, only to cage it inside and pretend he feels nothing as it destroys him.  _ Silly Stubborn Witcher.  _

Jaskier chuckles softly, drawing himself back to the present and carefully removing his doublet, a recent purchase of his which seems to be popular amongst his peers, the Witcher included if the staring session earlier was anything to go by. He moves to hang the garment on the back of a chair pushed out from the dining table and pulls six coins out of his pockets before turning round and offering half to each of the chattering boys. 

They thank the Witcher profusely for his kind help and stories, receiving a stunned nod in return before bowing their heads at Jaskier and leaving the room with their buckets, continuing to talk over the monsters they’d learnt about as they head down the stairs.

“I can’t leave you alone for one minute can I, you soft old man.” Jaskier teases, shaking his head softly before turning to place the metal covers over the platters of meat currently on the table, to help preserve them for later. 

He receives a hum in response and turns to silently watch the Witcher as the other man stares down into the hot, steaming water, a soft smile pulling at his chapped lips despite his obvious exhaustion.

“Are you going to just look at the bath or are you going to get into it?” The poet teases once more, carefully stepping up to the other man and laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“You sure you don’t wanna get in first?” Geralt replies as he lifts his bleary eyes to meet Jaskier’s concerned gaze.

“Yes, I’m sure.” Jaskier chuckles, waving off his friend's concern with a dramatic flick of his wrist. “I wouldn't offer it to you otherwise.” 

Geralt hums, holding the other man’s gaze for a few moments longer before stepping free of Jaskier’s touch to turn around and undress. He hisses softly as the dirty, stained fabric pulls against his skin in the places where blood and other viscera had landed during the fight the night before. 

His trousers are tricky to remove for an entirely different reason, and Geralt swears he can hear Jaskier laughing at him behind his back as he struggles to control his arm ma and legs long enough to wrestle the tight fabric off.

Oh, Jaskier was definitely laughing at the sight in front of him and though he knows it's partly cruel to enjoy watching his exhausted friend twist and wiggle around like a sozzled ship hand, he can’t find it within himself to offer a helping hand.

Eventually, Geralt manages to free himself of all his clothes, leaving them in a messy pile on the floor as heads towards the tub and climbs carefully inside. 

The groan the Witcher makes as he slides into the still steaming hot water sends warm tingles down Jaskier’s spine and he knows if he was to see his reflection right now, a large, happy smile would be showing on his lips. It’s only really in the last few years he has discovered how much he enjoys doing things for people, how much he enjoys taking care of others. 

Sure, he’d had an inkling before as he is generally a people person and Jaskier thinks that any decent being gets a certain pleasure from making someone else feel good. And this isn’t him admitting that he  _ only  _ does these things because it makes  _ him _ feel good, no certainly not. It’s more like an infectious happiness, making other people happy, makes him happy. Because he likes sharing his own good cheer and enjoyment of things with others. His increased income has certainly helped to make these endeavours a little easier and, though he hadn’t tried to hope too hard, he’d been thinking about how much he’d enjoy looking after his Witcher once again. This time in a more  _ hands on _ manner, rather than just changing the other’s reputation with his songs and stories. 

Though Jaskier would never admit this out loud, he had wondered how the Witcher would look when being truly cared for, wrapped up in soft blankets and fabrics that would feel good against his extra sensitive skin, eating as much good tasting, proper food as he actually needed to.  _ Gosh! _ What type of noises would the Witcher make when he is finally able to rel-- wait is he--

Jaskier turns slowly, head tilting to the side as he carefully steps closer to the Witcher relaxing in the tub. A Witcher who seemed to be... purring?  _ He is purring! _

_ Fuck, _ the bard had never heard anything so wonderful in his life! The feeling in his chest swells suddenly, the power of it knocking the breath from his lungs as he stares in wonder at the man before him.  _ He’s screwed! _

The bard briefly moves from Geralt's side to grab some soap and oil for the other’s hair before returning and kneeling behind him. Jaskier dips his hands in the water before beginning to wash the Witcher, his mind racing with new ideas and possibilities. Fuck, Jaskier was going to make Geralt purr as often as he could. He was going to fucking  _ spoil _ him.

* * *

Geralt was suspicious. Ever since they’d started traveling together again a month or so ago Jaskier had been acting strange. 

To begin with, the Witcher had wondered whether it had actually been the bard who had rescued him from that Lord’s Manor, or if it was a doppler in disguise trying to trick him. But a few silver tests and correct answers to a handful of questions only Jaskier would know the answer to had disproven that theory.

His next, and current idea, was that the bard was trying to trick him into a false sense of security and trust before betraying and hurting him as revenge for what he had said to Jaskier on top of that mountain. It was, after all, what the Witcher deserved. But Geralt didn’t understand why the bard would feel the need to buy him all these things to achieve that? The act of saving him from the executioner's block at Lord Godwin’s court had him already receiving Geralt’s trust.

Geralt had already been mildly on edge after the Bard refused to take any of his coin to help pay for their room, or let the Witcher pay for any of the food they ate while staying in that very up-market inn. Jaskier has even gone so far as to buy him a new black shirt to replace the one he’d been wearing on his last contract. Geralt had found it folded over the back one of the chairs in the room with his freshly cleaned leather pants, and a new pair of smallclothes.

And the clothing presents didn’t stop there. He’d damaged his boots in a fight with a particularly vicious nest of Arachas and after he’d healed from the resulting injuries Geralt had been presented with not just a replacement pair of boots, but an upgraded pair. and a spare pair, which were  _ fur lined _ … in case it got  _ cold.  _

Geralt had tried to put a stop to all the gifts by reminding the bard that they didn't have the space to carry such frivolous items and even if they did poor Roach couldn’t carry all of it on her back. Had Jaskier realised the validity of Geralt’s concern and stopped with the gifts? No. Instead, the bard had listened to Geralt’s concern, hummed in agreement and then bought  _ himself _ a horse to carry his own necessities and bought Geralt an  _ enchanted bag. _

Even worse than the never-ending gifts of blankets, fancy rooms, new clothes and expensive food was that Jaskier kept watching and  _ touching  _ him! 

Now, Geralt is not adverse to the touching per say, no it turns out he rather enjoys these new soft touches which are so much more  _ intimate  _ than the touches they’d shared when travelling together before. What Geralt doesn’t like is the fact that he didn’t understand why he was receiving them.  _ Yes,  _ he’d apologised to the bard. It had only taken a week of them travelling together and he’d blurted out his pre-scripted apology, hands tightly holding onto Roach’s reins as he avoided Jaskier's gaze.

After a few silent moments, in which Geralt had already started to rip himself to shreds inside his own head, the bard had requested the Witcher look at him. The beautiful smile that was sent his way once Geralt’s yellow eyes met Jaskier achingly soft blue ones had the Witcher gasping in a panicked breath.  _ Fuck.  _ He was  _ fucked. _

* * *

Jaskier had thought he was being subtle with his gifting, something he knew was important to get the Witcher to accept what he was trying to give him. This had been easier with the initial things as even Geralt could admit that a spare pair of clothes could come in handy. But things started to get a little trickier when he tried to replace things that the Witcher already had, like a new water skin that wasn’t  _ at least _ a decade old. Thankfully the Witcher had managed to damage his boots a day before the cobbler had completed Jaskier’s order, meaning that the bard just had to spin a little  _ teeny _ tiny white lie to get his latest gift accepted. 

A few weeks back, Geralt had started giving things to Jaskier in return, despite the bard’s insistence that he didn’t need to, that he didn’t do these things hoping for something in return. But the stubborn Witcher persisted, though he shifted his focus more on what he could  _ do _ for Jaskier rather than what he could  _ buy _ . Which, honestly, meant more to the bard then he could accurately express, despite his excellent grasp on the lyrical arts.

Which left bard his current problem, he’d bought Geralt another gift. Though this time to express his appreciation rather than just spoil him, something which  _ may  _ have caused him to go a  _ liiittle  _ overboard? Because this  _ had _ to be the best gift yet, something  _ bigger  _ and  _ better  _ than any of the simple trinkets he’d been gifting the Witcher before! And if he was going to buy something it had to be the best of the best of the  _ best, _ there was no point to it otherwise.

The gift was finally finished, it had been sent to one of his favourite inns on the border of Kaedwen, crafted by the finest armourer in all of Redania and now lay atop the table in their rented room.  _ Fuck! What had he been thinking? _

Jaskier is mid-panic when the Witcher returns from his supply run, new leather boots hardly making a sound as he walks into the room and locks the door behind him. The bard spins, quickly putting himself between Geralt and the set of armour as he forces a large smile onto his face. 

“Hello Witcher! Did you manage to find everything you were looking for?” he asks, spinning his rings around his finger, a nervous habit Jaskier has never been able to shake.

“What have you done now?” The Witcher replies, back turned on the bard as he rummages through his purchases, moving some to their right place in his supply bag.

“Nothing! Why would you assume I’ve done something wrong?” The bard inquires, swallowing thickly as his heart begins to race.  _ Fuck, this was a terrible idea. _

Geralt huffs out a laugh, turning to face the bard with an eyebrow raised. “Because I know you,” he replies, voice shifting to a teasing tone as he looks down at Jaskier’s fiddling fingers, “and you only do that when flirting or trying to hide something.”

“Well I  _ never _ !” The bard starts, hands moving to rest on his hips as the pitch of his voice changes to suit his defensive stance. “I wasn’t aware you thought so lowly of me Geralt!” He takes a step closer, one of his arms beginning to wave about in front of him. “To think, you only think of me as such a lowly scoundrel, how will I-”

Jaskier cuts his sudden tirade short when he feels the other man's hand on his shoulder and turns his head to watch as the Witcher places his bag down on the floor, eyes glued to a point behind Jaskier. “Oh,” the bard whispers dumbly, breaking the heavy silence that's fallen around them. “Yes uh,” he shakes his head and takes a step back from his friend, the smile that forms this time is rather a lot softer but much more genuine. “I may have bought you something?”

“What-” Geralt's intense stare cuts quickly across to the bard as he makes his confession before returning to the leather set lain carefully across the table before him. He had intended to ask Jaskier for clarification before his words had gotten stuck in his suddenly dry throat. He swallows thickly, hands clenching and unclenching again at his sides as a warm feeling he’s quickly becoming to associate with the bard curls it’s way into his chest once more.

A million questions run through the Witcher’s head alongside a dangerous number of intense emotions, each making themselves known before crashing and knotting together. The easiest, and most recognisable amongst the overwhelming surge is confusion and his defensive instincts, so grabs Geralt tight hold and lets them drag him back to the surface. 

“What’s your game here?” The Witcher growls, taking a step away from Jaskier and the confusing offering. “What is it you are trying to do?”

Jaskier blinks, pushing away his own instinctive reply and instead deciding to work on finding out the source of the other’s discomfort and confusion. “There is no game. What is it you think i'm trying to do to you Geralt?” he asks, keeping his voice soft and even as he rests his palms against his thighs.

“Trick me.” Geralt replies, stance still tight and angry but the lilt at the end of his comment shows his own growing doubt at his mind's initial conclusion. 

“And why would I want to trick you Geralt?” Jaskier risks taking a step closer as he asks his next question, barely controlling his desire to reach out and cover Geralt’s clenching fists.

“The mountain.” The Witcher finally grates out, heart rate increasing as he watches Jaskier move closer. The swirling thoughts in his head are quieting now that he is letting this main worry air in the open, now that he may finally see which side of him had been correct about the bards intentions. “Make me trust you, then you’ll take it away.” He swallows thickly, eyes dropping to the ground between them. “Like I did to you.”

_ Fuck. _ Jaskier’s heart clenches painfully in his chest at the Witcher's soft confession. Because that's what this was, a confession, Geralt is confessing his worries to him, telling him why he found it difficult to accept what Jaskier was trying to offer. And Jaskier hadn’t even thought that this could be the reason why. He’d thought about the Witcher’s crippling sense of self-doubt, about his self-destructive tendencies, he’d even considered the fact that maybe Geralt just didn’t like him. But he’d never considered that his Witcher's guilt could go  _ this far. _ Especially not for something he’d already forgiven,  _ twice! _

Slowly, softly,  _ carefully _ Jaskier moves to cup the Witcher’s cheeks in his hands, ignoring the nervous beat of his traitorous heart as he tilts Geralt’s head up to meet the others uncertain gaze. “Geralt, I’m sorry. I promise you that has never been my intention I-...” he looks away for a moment, calming himself before meeting the Witcher’s intense gaze once more, silently praying his cheeks are not as flushed as they feel. “I only wished to treat you, to things you would never have bought yourself, things you  _ deserve _ .” 

“But why?” Geralt asks once more, bunching his hands in the loose fabric of his top, a top  _ Jaskier  _ gave him, in an effort to tamp down on the growing hope in his heart which quickens its beat with every kind word the bard utters.

“Because I want you to be happy.” The bard explains, releasing a slightly giddy bubble of laughter as his thumbs stroke across Geralt's stubbled cheeks. “Because I like seeing you happy and surrounded by the best things money-  _ my _ money can buy. It makes  _ me  _ happy to see you happy and  _ fuck _ , if anyone in the whole Continent deserves to be spoilt, my love, it’s you.”

Geralt tries to take in all the bard is saying, he really does but his whole brain comes stumbling to halt upon hearing the bard refer to him as… love.  _ Oh. Oh! _ And that’s the name of the warm feeling which has been making a home in his chest since the bard has returned to his life, the one that swells whenever he’d been presented with a gift but had previously been overlooked as his mistrusting brain had focused on confusion instead.  _ Oh! _

“Oh.” The Witcher whispers, eyes blinking slowly before a soft smile lights up his face. One of his hands reaches up to gently cup the bard’s jaw, thumb stroking across his flushed cheek before pulling him closer and whispering softly against Jaskier's lips.

“I love you too.” 


End file.
